What do you do when Elsa gets Frozen out?

Elsa's coming back ... but not in Sara's house.
Elsa's coming back ... but not in Sara's house.

IN the not too distant past, Elsa was a big deal in my household.

The blonde-headed ice queen of Arendelle was everything to my now five-year-old, writes Sara Fitzpatrick.

The obsession was so powerful that it crossed an ocean, all the way to Japan, from where her uncle and his wife sent Frozen merch unseen in these parts.

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Family members, friends and even neighbours knew of this obsession and delighted in indulging it.

Trish next door bought Frozen-themed Christmas baubles, day care workers gifted us Disney books, a beloved aunty bought Elsa and Anna walkie talkies – and so the cycle continued.

Soon the collection comprised hats, bathers, t-shirts, dresses, shoes, socks, mugs, cutlery, stickers, bags, stationary, towels, jewellery, shampoos, lip glosses, soaps…

Elsa has lost her magical power over Sara’s daughter.

And when a little scratch occurred, you best believe I ripped out the appropriately-themed bandaids.

The more it was fed, the more the beast grew: eventually my daughter only accepted food from a Frozen plate and garments worn by Elsa.

Of course ice blue was her favourite colour and Let it Go her favourite song.

Then when her wide-eyed brunette sister hit toddlerhood, she was over-the-moon to have her own little Anna as a sidekick.

I played along – we all did – it was sweet.

I was collecting charms at the time for a silver bracelet: among the assortment was an Indian elephant symbolising my heritage – and a snowflake, to honour said obsession.

As I write, I can’t help smiling: it was a joyous time seeing this shy little soul find a hero she admired.

Blonde haired, blue eyed and fair: she WAS tiny Elsa.

Then, one day, rather abruptly: the obsession stopped.

But not only did it stop, it turned on itself: imploding in sensational fashion.

My daughter now decided – almost three years in – that Elsa was the villain: someone to be loathed.

You see Elsa had become a symbol of her former self; her younger, less cool, less evolved self.

We were all in shock.

And as people continued to buy Frozen gifts I quietly explained that Elsa had left the building; replaced by unicorns, zombies and ‘girls rule’ tees.

I don’t think I had an obsession as a child.

Sure I loved Barbie but I didn’t insist my toast be served on her face.

The closest thing was probably my girlhood crush on Keanu Reeves.

That old Bill & Teds Excellent Adventure VHS got quite the workout.

I even wrote a letter to the Point Break hottie, requesting he consider me as his next on-screen love interest.

I found this letter recently, in an envelope marked for LA – now if only I could find that Full House script I penned…

Back to Elsa.

The hatred that ensued had me throwing out every Frozen item in our home.

Why doesn’t she love us anymore?

This sounds like a fairly simple task right but it’s weeks later and I’m still finding Kristoff stickers and Olaf playing cards.

Bags and bags of once sacred assets went to Anglicare: a deserving little child will probably relive the magic through them – and then possibly the disdain after a three-year stint.

A few months have passed since the scorn peaked and the kids are now in two minds about seeing Frozen 2 at the cinema.

I was invested in this world for a bloody long time – against my will I might add – so they can damn well come with me and see where the story goes.

Can round two spark the same wonderment – revolution if you will – that number one did?

It better not in my household – none of us can handle the dizzying high and shattering comedown again.


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